


Wasn't That A Mighty Storm

by Anonymous



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Gen, Ghosts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-29
Updated: 2012-03-29
Packaged: 2017-11-02 17:21:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/371481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Martin makes his way home in the middle of a storm after his van broke down at the airfield.  The thing is though, he won't be making the trip alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wasn't That A Mighty Storm

**Author's Note:**

> Why yes, I do have a thing for magical AUs that involve Martin. I swear, one day I will write something else. maybe. We will see.

It was a mighty storm, the kind that people talk about for ages afterwards, the kind people die in, the kind that people get lost in and never find their way out of. 

It was the kind that would wind up becoming a legend.

And Martin Crieff, in his infinite unluckiness, was one of the few people who had to be out in it. 

Well no, he didn't have to be out in it but at that moment, he would have rather taken his chance walking home than trying to find safety at the airfield. Perhaps it would have been the wiser choice to stay but all he wanted was to be home, to curl up in his bed and be dry and safe and comfortable.

It was a shame that such a thing was hours and hours away.

The lightening crackled overhead and he winces at the noise. it was always uncomfortable to be out in storms but there was something about the lightening that always unsettled him. He wasn't scared of it exactly, it was simply that he was never quite comfortable with it either. 

Too many things took advantage of the flickering light, the energy in the air. Too much could happen in a storm that he didn't want to think about.

Something made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, he could feel it in the air, feel the strangeness, the oddness to it. He wasn't sure what it was, if it was something big or small, or if he should start running, but he knew something was near by.

And then he could see it, a figure in the distance. It fell to it's knees as the lightening struck and Martin didn't know what to do, if he should approach or keep his distance. The lightening struck again a few seconds later and it wasn't there anymore. It was gone in a flash, just like they all were.

The ghosts of Fitton were out tonight, the lost ones, the ones who can't move on, those who are caught up in their own deaths, or the lives of those around them. They all wandered through the storm with him and he shuddered a little at the thought.

He keeps his feet moving a ta steady pace, closing his eyes every now and then, hoping that the storm would slow, that the ghosts would fade but neither one happens. The world was dark and angry that night, the ghosts tearing through the storm, some of them dying over and over again, others trying to get his attention and others still just wandering the night, looking for something, anything, to help them move on

Martin couldn't help them, he wanted to sometimes, when he wasn't so tired of dealing with the that he just didn't care anymore, but he couldn't. He wasn't good enough, wasn't strong enough to really communicate with them. Simon could, he worked with the dead and helped them move on and Caitlin had other skills, she was better working with the fae and getting them to behave but Martin? He was just ab observer, just someone who could see and do nothing more.

And now? As he walked through the night and he saw more and more of them, people walking through the storm with him, he hated it. Hated that he couldn't do anything. Even if it was just talk to them, to get a few words in edgewise, it would be better than this, than feeling alone in the middle of a crowd. Then again, he wonders if such a thing even mattered if the crowd you were in was made up of the dead but he's pretty sure it did.

A girl walked beside him, her hand reaching out to wrap around his. He looked down at her, at the tired eyes and the wound in her chest. He wanted to say something, to hear what she's got to say to him but he couldn't. His powers aren't that strong and they are left to walk in silence, the sounds of nature the only thing echoing around them.

And that's how it goes for the entire walk back. People try and grab his attention or they play out their deaths or so many other things, all in front of him while the lightening dances overhead. It made everything that much odder, that much more surreal but the closer he got to the attic, the less it mattered. There would be peace soon, warmth and maybe some toast to calm his nerves. He would be alright, away from this and safe in his own bed.

There was a dog sitting at the porch of the house and he laughed. The dog had been there since he moved in, always waiting dutifully and barking when he saw him. He could never communicate with dead people but every now and then, when he was lucky or the storms were strong, he could talk to dead animals, pets who've bonded with the spot or family they lived with. He doesn't know why this dog stays around but he's fairly certain that he's chased away a few nasty things that have tried to bother the various members of the house, so Martin doesn't complain.

And after that? After he's made it through the storm? After he's finally home and safe and can get out of his sopping wet clothes?

He promptly fell into bed, rolling to one side and curling up.

He doesn't care that there are noises in the room, doesn't care that he can feel the bed shift ever so sightly as something slides into bed next to him. 

He's never had a room to himself anyway.


End file.
